dharma
Thinking about the people in this floating world
far into the night --
My sleeve is wet with tears.
First days of spring -- blue sky, bright sun.
Everything is gradually becoming fresh and
green.
Carrying my bowl, I walk slowly to the village.
The children, surprised to see me,
Joyfully crowd about, bringing
My begging trip to an end at the temple gate.
I place my bowl on top of a white rock and
Hang my sack from the branch of a tree.
Here we play with the wild grasses and throw a
ball.
For a time, I play catch while the children sing;
Then it is my turn.
Playing like this, here and there, I have forgotten
the time.
Passers-by point and laugh at me, asking,
"What is the reason for such foolishness?"
No answer I give, only a deep bow;
Even if I replied, they would not understand.
Look around! There is nothing besides this.
The thief left it behind --
the moon
At the window.
If there is beauty, there must be ugliness;
If there is right, there must be wrong.
Wisdom and ignorance are complementary,
And illusion and enlightenment cannot be
separated.
This is an old truth, don't think it was discovered recently.
"I want this, I want that"
is nothing but foolishness.
I'll tell you a secret --
"All things are impermanent!"
At Yahiko Mountain
you can see
Both flowers and children bloom.
In the entire ten quarters of the Buddha land
There is only one vehicle.
When we see clearly, there is no difference in all
the teachings.
What is there to lose? What is there to gain?
If we gain something, it was there from the
beginning.
If we lose anything, it is hidden nearby.
Look at the ball in the sleeve of my robe.
Surely it has great value.
Counting days is like snapping
one's fingers --
Even May passes like a dream.
Truly, I love this life of seclusion.
Carrying my staff, I walk toward a friend's
cottage.
The trees in his garden, soaked by the evening
rain,
Reflect the cool, clear autumnal sky.
The owner's dog comes to greet me;
Chrysanthemums bloom along the fence.
These people have the same spirit as the
ancients;
An earthen wall marks their separation from the
world.
In the house volumes of poetry are piled on the
floor.
Abandoning worldliness, I often come to this
tranquil place --
The spirit here is the spirit of Zen.
O, that my priest's robe were wide enough
to gather up all the suffering people
In this floating world.
from
One Robe, One Bowl, The Zen Poetry of Ryokan
translated by John Stevens
published by John Weatherhill, Inc.